‘Are you okay?’ His voice was so raspy, it made me want to tear off his shirt with my teeth.
Before I could act on that, or any of the other impulses I was having involving a naked Nick – preferably back at my flat, but here in the booth wasn’t a deal-breaker – the door opened and a barman walked in.
We jumped apart.
Shit, were there cameras in here? Had he come to kick us out? The barman didn’t look particularly fazed, he was too busy concentrating on the tray he’d brought in. Of course, the drinks we’d ordered – about twenty-seven hours ago.
Carefully, he placed a pitcher of what looked like cola with mint-leaves floating in it on the table, then added two coasters, two glasses and two non-plastic straws. But instead of leaving, he poured the cola into the glasses, managing to spill ice cubes all over the table.
I snuck a glance at Nick, who was struggling to contain his laughter. He looked so relaxed; his hair was mussed and dimples framed a bright smile.
God, how could he go from sexy to adorable in five seconds?
Hang on a minute. Had I really just thought Nick was adorable? That wasn’t right. Tonight was supposed to be about getting something out of my system, while Simon worked Jess out of his.
The barman finally left, so I grabbed a glass and gulped it down. Anything was better than standing here with all these confusing feelings. The cola was ice-cold where Nick’s lips had been red-hot.
The karaoke machine moved on to a new random song. The opening penny whistle from ‘My Heart Will Go On’.
I froze.
Oh God. This was a sign.
Suddenly, I wasn’t confused anymore. I knew exactly what I had to do.
I slammed my glass onto the table. ‘I . . . I have to leave now.’
He looked stunned. ‘You’re leaving?’
I was so overcome with the need to get out I couldn’t even form a coherent excuse. ‘I’ve got a thing.’
‘A thing?’ I nodded, avoiding his eye. ‘That you have to do right now?’
I knew I sounded insane, but I didn’t care. ‘Afraid so.’
I turned to leave, but the gentle tug of his hand on my arm stopped me.
‘What’s going on, Zoë?’
I couldn’t bear how kind and patient his voice was. If only he’d sounded annoyed or flippant, I wouldn’t have had a problem flouncing out.
I finally turned to face him. ‘This has all been a terrible mistake.’
He smiled ruefully. ‘It felt pretty right to me.’
Why couldn’t he be an arsehole about this? I knew where I stood with him when we argued.
‘I’m just not interested in you. Sorry if I gave you the wrong idea.’
It took all my willpower not to bolt. Instead, I muttered a goodbye then strode out, forcing myself to hold my head high.
Once outside, I picked up my pace, getting to the tube in what felt like a matter of seconds.
I passed the barriers, flew down the escalators and arrived at the platform on autopilot. A blast of hot air announced a train was about to arrive.
The doors opened and I shuffled inside, finding a seat far from the other Sunday-evening travellers.
The motion of the train jolted me out of my stupor as I relived the past few minutes.
Sorry if I gave you the wrong idea . . .?
Jesus. How had Nick not laughed in my face? My tongue had been rammed down his throat. What other idea was he supposed to form from that?
Seeing Simon with Jess had fried my common sense. Luckily, that song had come on in the nick of time. I smiled, feeling a twinge in my ankle, like I always did, along with a warm feeling in the pit of my belly.
What the hell was I thinking, kissing Nick?
You not-so-secretly enjoyed every second – that’s what you’d been thinking, came a sneaky voice inside my head.
Well, I also secretly enjoyed watching Most Haunted with a tub of cookie dough ice-cream. It didn’t mean I wanted to do it every night.
I didn’t go straight home. Instead, I got off the tube a few stops after mine and made my way to my parents’ house. It was after nine now. I knew they’d have eaten dinner and would be watching telly. The Durrells, probably – my mum had a little crush on Spiro.
*
After a plate of reheated tavas, a favourite of mine: pork, potatoes, onions and tomatoes roasted to perfection in the oven, I sat with them in the front room that used to only be for guests when I still lived at home. I knew they were a bit stressed about Pete’s wedding; I hadn’t ever looked at it from their perspective – their eldest kid getting married was a big deal. Thinking about someone else’s problems was much more appealing than my own whirlwind emotions.
‘How are you both?’
‘Oh, fine, fine. We’re fine.’ This was Dad’s stock response to questions about his well-being.
I tried again: ‘Anything you need help with? Your phones or your computer?’
‘I think the Facebook’s broken,’ said Mum. ‘We keep seeing the same people over and over.’ My parents were very fond of their joint Facebook account that I’d set up for them – Frixos1234. Mum had been miffed that her preferred handle of Frixos123 had been taken by a bloke in Melbourne who, judging by his pictures, was a headless torso with impressively tanned abs.
‘That’s just the way Facebook is these days,’ I assured her. ‘Maybe unfollow people who post too much.’
‘Also, only me and your auntie Styliani liked the thing I posted about a goat dancing a sirtaki to “Zorba the Greek” ’.
My parents’ internet surfing was eight per cent looking up National Trust properties’ opening times and ninety-two per cent funny farmyard animals.
‘I’ll go and like it later, Mum,’ I said, feeling guilty.
We didn’t always have to talk to feel comfortable together, I realised. It was nice just being in the same room as them. I was lucky having my parents so close. Loads of my London friends had families who lived hundreds of miles away, or had horribly dysfunctional parents. It played a role in why so many stayed in unhappy or middling relationships – loneliness was too great a price to pay.
Having my folks so close probably explained why I wasn’t as obsessed as some of my peers with finding a partner. Of course, Mum and Dad wouldn’t be here for ever, but it was all the more reason to appreciate them while they still were.
I gave them both an extra-hard hug before I left.
I still felt hurt by Simon and my feelings for Nick were too weird to try and unravel. But by the time I got home, I felt much better about the crazy day I’d had.
26
I Don’t Want to Talk About It
I dragged myself to the office early on Monday morning and forced myself into crisis-management mode, but this time I directed my attention to where it was most urgently needed – the magazine. Being busy with work helped me to cope with my feelings for Simon. Because, even after all that had happened, the ache in my heart was for him. He was the last thing I thought about at night, and the first thing I thought about in the morning. Gavin had been right. Sometimes you just had to feel your feelings.
I needed to talk to Mike, but I sat at my own desk first to gather my courage. I reread Lucy’s interview with Jonny Delaney to double-check that she hadn’t gone all fangirl on us, the way Gavin had suggested she had.
Of course she hadn’t. I should never have doubted her.
Lucy had got some pretty good stuff out of him. He almost sounded sensible, which only proved what a great writer she was.
I put the proof down and took a long breath. Then I slowly walked to Mike’s office.
He always looked so cheerful in the mornings; despite the fact that he got up at 5 a.m. and did a five-mile run before getting into work. I hated that I was here to wipe the smile off his face.
I walked in and he checked his watch.
‘Goodness, Zoë. Did someone change your alarm clock for a joke? It’s not even eight.’
I shook my h
ead and sat down. ‘We need a Plan B. The Marcie interview isn’t going to happen.’
‘I thought you were getting along with Nick Jones.’
‘He has his limits. Marcie doesn’t want to talk and I’ve been a fool thinking I could be the one person to convince her otherwise.’
I was on the verge of tears. Oh come on, I chided myself. Pull yourself together. ‘I’m sorry, Mike. I’ve let you down.’
Mike’s expression didn’t change, but his face seemed to drain of colour. ‘Any ideas for this Plan B?’
‘Only one. We go big on Hands Down – make them the cover story.’ Christ, had I really just suggested that? I gritted my teeth to carry on. ‘Lucy’s done a great interview with Jonny Delaney. We need to talk to the others and pray they’ve got something interesting to say.’
‘I thought you were dead against that?’
‘I’ve grown up.’
‘All hope for Marcie is gone?’
I sighed. ‘Maybe when her new publicist is in post they’ll be able to persuade her.’
Mike frowned. ‘Nick is out?’
I suddenly faltered. ‘I probably shouldn’t have told you that. He told me in confidence.’
‘Okay,’ said Mike. ‘Let’s get our boy band game on.’
*
A couple of hours later, when the rest of the team was in, I called an impromptu meeting. It was harder telling them than Mike because I’d never let them see how furiously I’d been paddling to get Marcie, all the while keeping up a calm exterior.
‘That’s a bummer,’ said Lucy.
‘It sucks donkey’s balls,’ added Gavin.
I tried to rouse their spirits, reminding them that it was Lucy’s birthday in two days and that we were going to have a small party in the office. Her proper celebrations would take place at the weekend but she was turning twenty-four on Wednesday and I hated the idea of not marking it.
It might be the last birthday we all spent together.
I’d staked the magazine on Marcie and I’d failed. If the Hands Down issue didn’t push up our circulation, our days were numbered. The idea filled me with dread.
‘I could bring some games,’ said Gav.
‘Only if you want me to cut your nads off,’ retorted Lucy.
‘Luce, will you ring the Hands Down PR guy and set up the interviews? And give him David’s number, too, so they can liaise about the photoshoot.’
I pretended to search for something in my drawer, bracing myself in case she asked why I wasn’t ringing Nick myself. But she agreed without a fuss and got back to her work of terrorising Gav.
The night before Lucy’s birthday, I declined all invitations to go out and get pissed because I had my own plans: I was going to make a birthday cake. I’d bought a cookery book in Tesco on a whim, thrown a few ingredients into my basket and was all set to get stuck in. Thirty-four years old and it would be the first cake I’d ever made from scratch. Was that lame or impressive?
It was all going swimmingly until I realised I only had caster sugar and not icing sugar. Would it make that much difference? To be safe, I rang Alice to check.
‘Sorry, Zoë, the line must be bad because it sounded like you said you were baking a cake.’
‘I know it’s unbelievable, but you heard right.’
She broke the news that the clue was in the name and that icing needed icing sugar. Attempting it with caster sugar would only lead to disaster.
It meant another trip to the supermarket, but I had no choice.
‘Why don’t I bring some over?’ she said. ‘I can be there in ten minutes.’
‘Really?’
‘I need to check with my own eyes that my sister-in-law is cake-making. In fact, I might need to get photographic proof because Pete is never going to believe me.’
*
Two hours later, we were licking the bowl and the cake was rising nicely in the oven.
‘How are things at work?’ asked Alice, while I started on the washing-up.
‘Not great.’ I let out a breath, making the soap suds fly. ‘We’re running a big feature on Hands Down.’
‘But that’s really cool!’
I smiled. I’d forgotten that Alice was secretly a fan.
‘Well, it will improve sales in the short run. Whether it will convince our parent company to keep faith in us is another question.’
‘I believe in you,’ she said.
Her words brought a lump to my throat.
‘Enough about me,’ I said. ‘Tell me about Pete’s latest groomzilla meltdown. Mum mentioned that he’d ordered the wrong stefana.’
These were the crowns that were placed on the bride and groom’s heads during the wedding sacrament to symbolise that the two were now united.
Alice giggled. ‘He bought them online and prided himself on getting a bargain. Turns out they weren’t crowns, but napkin rings. He’s promised to go up to Southgate at the weekend to buy them in person.’
Baking, especially with company, turned out to be a lovely mood-booster, because the next day I felt remarkably positive. The cake had survived the journey on the Central Line and was now safely hidden in Mike’s office.
Jody and Ayisha had brought balloons and poppers, and Rob had designed a ‘birthday girl’ banner.
At lunchtime, Gav took me to one side to have a word.
‘I must be a glutton for punishment,’ he said. ‘Because I’ve organised a surprise for Lucy’s party tonight.’
‘Don’t say you’ve bought a new board game.’
‘No, like I said, I’m a glutton for punishment. You know Lucy and I shared the interviewing for Hands Down? Well, I just spoke to Nick Jones about it and he’s going to persuade them to come and sing for Lucy tonight.’
‘That’s very sweet. Is Lucy such a convert?’
He nodded. ‘Check out her Spotify playlist – it’s full of Hands Down. The guys are okay, really. It’s just Jonny who’s a bit of a prick – probably because he gets all the extra attention, thanks to his famous girlfriend.’
‘How are things generally?’ I looked around to check no one was within earshot. ‘Have you told Lucy how you feel?’
Gav shook his head. ‘I’m still working up to that.’
*
Later, I popped out to buy candles and rang Alice.
‘Want to come by the office this evening?’ I asked her. ‘You may as well come and try some of the cake you helped make.’
‘But I don’t know the birthday girl.’
‘That doesn’t matter. Anyway, it will be nice to introduce you to everyone. You’re the first sister I’ve ever had.’
Alice sounded quite emotional by the time I rang off. I hadn’t told her that Hands Down would be there because I wanted to surprise her. I knew she’d be thrilled, and the thought made me very happy. And God knows how miserable I’d been the last couple of days.
Gav and Rob nipped out and returned with wine and nibbles, and by six o’clock we’d all switched off our computers and were huddled around Gav’s desk as he poured the drinks. I hadn’t had any alcohol since Sunday, but I knew it would look churlish if I refused a drink tonight, so I drank very slowly and kept my plastic beaker far from Gavin’s enthusiastic refilling arm.
Alice arrived and I made the introductions. She chatted to everyone and found she had a friend in common with Rob’s girlfriend.
Alice helped me light the candles and then followed me back into the main office and started off the first round of ‘Happy Birthday’.
Gav had been liaising with the Hands Down boys – minus Jonny – and as soon as Lucy had blown out the candles they burst in.
Lucy was bouncing up and down with joy, but my eyes were on Alice, who went bright pink and had to sit down. She looked over at me, mouthed ‘thank you’, then turned her gaze back to Guy Williams, who I happened to know was her favourite Hands Downer. They’d moved on to a very pretty version of Seal’s ‘Kiss From A Rose’ – although I doubted any of them had been born when
it came out.
I was so busy looking at Alice’s happy face that I hadn’t noticed Nick arrive. He was sitting on the far side of the room next to Mike. He was back in his usual uniform of a suit and tie, and beside him was a bouquet of flowers, which he presented to Lucy when she bounded up to him after the song finished.
Unlike Simon, he’d rung several times since Sunday, but I’d never picked up and he hadn’t left a message. Things were too weird between us, and I had enough on my plate. But I had to admit it was nice of him to come and persuade the boys to sing for Lucy.
The last time he’d been here had been the night of Patrick’s funeral. I swallowed back a lump in my throat. I missed Pat so much. Part of me felt that I deserved to lose my job because, without Patrick’s wise advice, I was bound to fuck up sooner or later. Why delay the inevitable?
My attention was caught by a flashing light and I turned to see David, our photographer, snapping the Hands Down boys. Pics of them in our offices would add a nice touch to the issue. Thank God someone – most likely Mike – had thought to invite David and his camera.
Nick had moved and was talking to Gav. There were now only ten metres between us, instead of twenty. It felt far too close for comfort so I took myself off to the ladies to kill time. I wanted to go home, but it was far too early to leave.
By the time I got back, Lucy and Gav were arm-wrestling. How could she not realise he liked her? He’d done everything except pull her pigtails and run away. Wisely, he let her win, and she stood on a chair proclaiming herself Queen of the World.
I smiled and at that exact moment my eyes met Nick’s. He didn’t quite smile back, but at least I’d inadvertently broken the ice. The next moment Alice was by my side.
‘Nick seems nice,’ she said. She’d seen me smile, then.
‘You’ve talked to him?’
‘Yes, he was very interested in my Pilates studio. He told me he trained with a yogi in India.’
‘You must have a knack with him; he’s never opened up that much to me.’
‘Probably just making conversation,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t seem all that comfortable to be here.’
Love Songs for Sceptics Page 26
